


Campfire Stories

by thebigbengal



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Mild Language, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Twin Peaks Season/Series 02-03 Hiatus, pre-TPTR, some feels here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebigbengal/pseuds/thebigbengal
Summary: Myths and Legends have always been apart of Twin Peaks, but Becky Briggs may find that some of these stories hold more truth than she'd initially thought.





	Campfire Stories

“C’mon Becky, you going in or what?”

The creaking wood boards of the boxcar laughed with the rest of the middle school boys huddled behind her.

Sunday night. She told her mother she’d be at a friend’s house watching movies. Mom never minded, just so long as she came back at a reasonable hour, the chances of which grew slimmer and slimmer the longer Becky stood there, leaning into the dark of the boxcar and fighting her legs that wanted to swivel around and dash back home. The boys’ glares pushed her further toward the door and onto the platform. She might feel less compelled to enter had some of the older highschool boys not been there, the one named Steven Becky had taken a liking to from a distance.

Steven had a bit of a name at Twin Peaks high. Fifteen and already had multiple girls hanging off his arm, none of which know about each other, and word has it he has connections to guys with “the good stuff”; things that Becky’s father warns her of. Steven knew all kinds of secrets and tricks-of-the-trade her parents wouldn’t share no matter how much she may have pestered them. If she played her cards right, she might be able to wiggle her way into the circle.

She just hoped it didn’t have to involve something like this.

“I don’t - I don’t know if I should be here.”

“Look, the deputy’s kid is gonna chicken out. I knew it!” One of them scoffed.

Steven pursed his lips and pulled them up into one corner of his face. His eyes narrowed at her, “Yeah, is this too much for you or something?”

A burning sensation built up within Becky’s throat, “No, shut up! It’s just a stupid train car. I’ll go in.”

She faced the doorway, climbed onto the platform, and edged into the pitch black room. The boys smirked at her, though a slight tickle on her neck told her it wasn’t in approval of her actions, but that they could get her to do something she didn’t want to. Steven looked the most entertained out of all of them. She could at least breathe easy with her success in keeping his attention.

_Just a stupid train car._

Though that’s certainly what it was, there wasn’t exactly anything stupid about it.

Twin Peaks had a lot of stories to offer its residents and visitors, both of historical value and mystical in nature. Becky couldn’t care less of the settlers that came during the gold rush or idealist loggers who saw potential in this plot of land, instead bewitched by legends spoken by Deputy Hawk and other local natives, and myths passed over campfires and between kids behind the school walls.

The ghost of the Great Northern Hotel, who’s wails ring through the mahogany walls and keep customers up all night. Classmate, Richard Horne, whom Becky doesn’t like in the slightest, gets asked about it on a regular basis.

“It’s a bunch a bullshit.” He always says, but the stack of complaints on his grandfather’s desk and overflowing his answering machine may say otherwise.

Then there’s Mrs. Palmer and her haunted house, haunted by what, Becky is never sure, because nobody can seem to agree on the spirit that walks those halls. Her dead husband is a popular answer, but others guess it was some other family member that came on a holiday. A friend whispered of it actually being a daughter, but was shot down quickly for the idea. The Palmers never had kids. How could they? No one’s made any mention of them.

Whichever it is, Mrs. Palmer is deeply disturbed by it. Becky sees her father greet her, should she ever leave her house and walk in the open air, drop by bars, or trace the liquor aisle on a shopping day. She barely responds, and if she does, it’s low and insincere. Becky can’t ever look her in the eyes. She’ll tell her parents they feel like splinters of ice, only to be scolded for the rude opinion. She knows they agree with her, though, especially when she asks her father if Mrs. Palmer was always like this. Every time, she is met with silence, except on one occasion when he was pushed too far and too fed up with her persistence.

“No, she wasn’t. Now drop it.”

The one that frightens Becky the most, however, was the Man in the Woods. Perhaps because of how vague it is, or because of the strange reaction it offered when she asked Deputy Brennan about it.

“Now, Becky, you don’t have to worry. It’s just a story and nothing more. But I’ll ask you not to mention that around Sheriff Truman, alright?”

Same as the house, everyone has their own conclusion, be it a secret agent on a mission, a cop hunting down a criminal, or a simple hiker that was in way over his head. Some versions, like the one her friend, Megan, submits to, speculate he went insane and became a cannibal, but the more fantastical versions pique Becky’s curiosity and subsequent paranoia.

“He turned into a monster, with wings and everything!”

“Pretty sure those are just owls, Tyler.”

“No, I’m serious! This one was too big to be an owl!”

People can’t possibly turn into monsters just by getting lost in a forest, but then again, this forest didn’t feel like any other out there. Unless all forests felt this way, like an audience watching circus animals.

Now, there was the box car. This story Beck had only recently heard, in fact, just as she was heading out with the boys to play their game.

“Some girl got murdered in there, decades ago.”

“I thought she killed herself? You’re remembering it wrong.”

“No, no, wolves ate her, man. Or birds, like, plucked her eyes out, or something.”

They were full of it, surely. Just trying to rile her up. But the closer she drew to it, after opting to follow the gang despite her promise to her mother, and down the winding path, the less it felt like a train car and more like a portal, wheezing and decaying, nawed away at by the ominous trees that sent their roots under its floor boards and broken wheels. It was a dying whale and they were about to poke and prod at it’s bloated, infected flesh.

The interior of the car may as well have been a decomposing corpse, itself. Wood clustered with fungi and a barely steady roof crocheted together by ancient vines and fallen branches. It was lucky Becky had on her hiking boots, otherwise her feet would have been shredded by rusted razor-wire and stray nails that shot up through the floorboard like spears of rock beneath a cavern. The awful smell of oil tinged her nostrils. She pressed further to the back of the car.

The deal was no flashlights and to sit there for an hour until… something happens. Or something doesn’t happen, and then she can go home, unscathed, and with a newfound sense of pride and popularity. The boys’ chatter can be heard through the curling blanks of the car’s frame.

“How does she do it? She, like, comes out and stabs you? She’s a ghost. She can’t hold a knife.”

“I heard she sucks out all of your insides by tonguing you!”

“Gross, dude!”

Again, Becky remained skeptical, but the car appeared to be taking that as a challenge. She sensed the floor lightly rocking under foot, asking, then demanding, that she sit down in it’s darkness. She spread out her hands, feeling around for anything that would intrude on her space. She felt like a dog making a circle before lying down for a rest.

A cold shock on the surface of mirror shards pricked her fingertips. She gently brushed them aside with her jacket sleeve, and settled on the peeling wood.

_An hour._

Seconds already crawled to millenial pace.

Oil fumes snatched up in her nose and crept down to her mouth. She grimaced. Water seeped from between her eyelids when they started to sting.

The air turned into rolling ocean waves, and Becky turned her head up to keep from drowning. The light of the full moon shined unobscured through the crumbling roof. It was so much brighter than she remembered upon entering the car, or even climbing up the trail. Flares of moon drifted off the mirror that sat beside her, and hit each board of the frame. 

Something took up the empty space in the corner of her eye, and she in no way wanted to prove to herself if it was actually there or not. She started to shake, but the whimpering wasn’t hers. The oil filled her throat. The sight of murky red splotches under her palm sent her stomach flying. Light clogged the boxcar to the brim, and footsteps rushing through dried grass and across the floor in her direction smothered the unknown sobs. Becky hopped to her feet and made a break for the door, then a gloved hand grabbed her by the hood. She screeched and swung at the entity.

“Let go of me!”

A second hand took her by the shoulder and squeezed tight.

“Becky, it’s me!”

Her father, Deputy Briggs, set down his flashlight and pulled her into his arms, and breathed with intense relief. Beside him stood Deputy Brennan, visibly moved by the display of paternal affection. Outside, she could see Sheriff Truman herding the boys off down the trail, Steven included.

“What the hell are you doing out here? You nearly gave your mother and I a damn heart attack!”

Becky glanced back over to the other end of the car. The only existing light source, inside and out in the forest, was the flashlight lying on the floor. Even the moon had diminished to the dull glow that it began the night as. She combed through the silence for the whimpering, only for her father’s sharp tone to pull her back to reality, “Becky, look at me!”

“She seems pretty frightened, Bobby. Why not take her back to your car, first?” Deputy Brennan spoke up. Briggs took his eyes off of Becky and nodded at Brennan’s suggestion.

“Yeah… yeah, okay. Come on, Becky.”

The three of them tread down to the empty road, where two police cars were parked on the curb, and Sheriff Truman lectured the group of teenagers.

“Andy, could you call up these kids’ parents? Make sure they get home safe?”

“Sure thing, Harry.” Deputy Brennan lead the boys to his car and pulled out the radio. Truman walked over to the other car where Briggs, and Becky in tow, stood.

“You driving?”

“Mm, hmm.”

Her father unlocked the doors, Becky slid into the back seat, and Truman into the passenger seat. Briggs went in last, got comfortable, and pulled the car out onto the road, the two officers waving to Deputy Brennan as they passed. The yellow light of the high beams illuminated the pavement up ahead, while the rest of the mountain road was drenched in black. Only a sliver of her father’s face was visible in the rear view mirror.

Tricks of the light. Whatever that was back there, they had to be. All just Becky’s imagination acting up in an environment that encouraged such activity. She was out of there, that was good enough for her. Granted she would have liked to have earned her victory in the face of the boxcar’s illusions, if not to impress Steven, but she wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. She caught her breath and got comfortable herself.

“How’d you find out where I was?” Becky felt like she was teasing a lion with that question.

“Your mother called up Jordan’s parents to ask to send you home, but they said you never came to their house.” Her father quickly replied.

“Did Jordan tell you, then?”

“She did. She said you decided to go with those boys through the woods.”

Becky folded her arms, “Fucking snitch.”

“Hey!” Her father snapped his head around, “Watch your mouth!”

Truman placed his hand on Briggs’ shoulder, “Bobby, eyes on the road.”

“Right, sorry.”

Becky sank back in her seat, and leaned against the chilled car window. She fidgeted under the seat belt that irritated her neck.

“Becky, I don’t want you going back up there. Especially when it’s this dark.”

“Your father is right. You don’t know what kind of criminal activity may go on out in those parts.” Truman added, "Why, we get reports of drug deals gone sour almost on a weekly basis."

“Like with that kid, Steven.”

“Steven is not like that!” Becky objected to her father’s accusation, “He’s cool.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he likes to think that about himself. But watch how cool really is when doing twenty to life behind bars.”

Becky couldn’t see it, but a faint smile crossed Truman’s face, which Briggs responded to with a pout and a shake of his head, translating to a non-verbal "Shut up" and "I didn't say anything." The irony of that statement alone was enough to make Truman's night, maybe tomorrow night, too.

A hush fell over the car, coupled with the soft hum of the tires on pavement. Briggs sighs grew louder, and he allowed his arms to untense.

“Alright, can you tell me what you were doing up there, now? With those… boys?”

Becky hoped to have avoided talking about it any further in fear of being yelled at again, but the implications of it all began to dawn on her and the last thing she wanted was her father to get the wrong idea.

“I went on a dare. They dared me to sit in the train car in the dark. If I lasted an hour, I guess I win or something.”

There was a pause, as if Briggs was waiting for her to finish, but that was it, honest to god.

“Oh, okay then. It was just a dare.”

“Just a dare.”

“Okay.”

The leather of the steering wheel squeaked under her father’s grip. He swallowed, and found a question he didn’t really want answered.

“Was it… because of that story?”

Becky shifted upright, “Y-yeah, it was.”

“Dammit. God dammit. Not that again.” He groaned.

Truman’s hand was back on his shoulder, “Bobby, relax.”

“I know, I know. Just, how'd it get turned into that?”

“I have no idea. It’s awful.”

Becky grew eager at the conversation she’d sparked. She jumped at her chance to dig for more clues.

“Wait, so did a girl really die up there?”

The officers stopped dead. The suffocating sensation had apparently followed her from the boxcar and reared its head.

“Becky, we’re not gonna do this right now.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Becky-”

“Was she murdered?”

“Enough! Be quiet!”

The car came to an abrupt halt that jolted all three of them in their seats. Briggs returned his attention to the road and brought the vehicle back to it’s steady drive.

She’d struck a damaged nerve, and her father’s pain resonated through the both of them. He sucked in air between his clenched teeth, and Truman tightened his grip on his fellow officer. Becky shrank in the crevice between the seat and the car door, wanting to completely slip through and off into the night sky. She started to cry for her mistake.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

Tears streamed when given more silence. He dropped his head and back up to the road in front of him.

“It’- it’s alright, sweetheart. I was the one that mentioned it, anyhow. Just…  you need learn when to stop talking, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

A damaged nerve, alright. At least she knew there was something there, now. Something that gave those stories a hint of credibility.

“Are any of the other stories true, then?”

Remorseful over his outburst, Briggs saw to it quell his daughter's adamant curiosity. She was just a girl living in a town that, even he had to admit, was strange and bubbling with mystery at every turn, something he tired of as he grew older. “Like what?”

“The Man in the Woods.”

“The man in the... what?"

“Y’know, the guy that went missing a long time ago?”

Truman’s hand fell from Briggs’ shoulder, who returned the action, trying to soften the blow that Becky detected all too late. She had forgotten Deputy Brennan’s request and her father’s earlier advise. If she could slap herself, she would. The thought of why she shouldn’t have brought that up didn’t cross her mind at all. Instead it would eat at her. That would be the last question she ever asks them, at least for the rest of the drive. Sheriff Truman turned his gaze out the window and kept it there.

Her father saw the the flaw in this: scraping up secrets from under scabs without reopening the wound, without bleeding out, it would all prove impossible. Regret washed over, not just for him but on Harry's part as well; waves upon waves from years ago, when the cuts were fresh. He chose to speak to her at a later time, whenever that may be. _If_ he can muster up the strength to do so.

“I’m dropping you off at the house. You need to apologize to your mother for running off like that, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The boxcar didn’t seem so awful, anymore. 

They pulled up to the house, where Becky’s mother paced anxiously on the front porch. She kissed her father goodbye, wished Sheriff Truman a good night, and withstood her mother’s lecture before receiving a tight hug and a wet kiss on the forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> For those not in the know, Becky Briggs is Shelly and Bobby's daughter from season 3 aka The Return. Steven would become her husband sometime before then.


End file.
